


“Oh come on, have you seen the amount of plaid you wear?”

by firelordazulas



Category: Last Tango In Halifax
Genre: F/F, Oh god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2660651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelordazulas/pseuds/firelordazulas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gillian’s started poking you quite hard in the arm and you’re grumbling about how comfortable she is with you now, trying to bat her hand away while also burying your face in the pillow. It’s tempting to drag the blanket over your head, but that ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t you see me’ mentality is a bit far, no matter how tired you are.<br/>“I’m up.” You whine, with pretty much no plan of moving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“Oh come on, have you seen the amount of plaid you wear?”

You groan when, as usual, Gillian is awake at 7am and moving about, making tea, trying to wake you up with dire comments like “Don’t you have a school to run” and “I need to go feed the sheep, unless you feel like doing it.” It’s not like you were the one who suggested you get pissed and pass out on the sofa, that was entirely her fault and you refused to accept any blame. Even if you were the one who brought the wine in the first place. And then the one who suggested you open the brandy, and the one who suggested you start drinking it neat instead of in tea. Honestly, the only good thing in all of this was that Gillian hadn’t dropped any other unpleasant bombs on you over the course of the evening - or not that you could remember, anyway, and really you thought that was the most important thing.  
She’s started poking you quite hard in the arm and you’re grumbling about how comfortable she is with you now, trying to bat her hand away while also burying your face in the pillow. It’s tempting to drag the blanket over your head, but that ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t you see me’ mentality is a bit far, no matter how tired you are.  
“I’m up.” You whine, with pretty much no plan of moving.

“Do you - do you remember?”  
“What? You didn’t tell me you’d killed another man, did you?” Your eyes widen and you shoot straight up, grabbing Gillian’s arm. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, that was insensitive of me.”  
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” She shakes her head, biting her lip, but you can see the sheen over her eyes, the way her hands are slightly trembling.  
With a sigh, you lean over and hug her, where she’s crouching on the floor, rubbing her back, marvelling over her childishness versus not only her strength of character but also her physical hardiness. When she wraps her arms around you, you imagine you can feel the power of her biceps, imagine them like steel bands. That would usually make you bristle, coming from a man, but you just feel... Safe. Looked after. You realise that this woman has somehow worked her way under your defenses, with her wide eyes and a lifestyle you’d usually look down on. Quite a large part of you wishes you still saw her as trailer trash.  
Gillian sniffles into your shoulder. “If you don’t remember it’s not a big deal.”  
“Well I don’t think I remember anything earth shattering.” You frown into her hair, but most of the night is a blur. The two of you had ended up slouched on the sofa together, which was pretty normal, nothing out of the ordinary as you were both rather touchy drunks, her more so. Half of it, if you’re honest, had been spent trying to decipher her pop culture references and impersonations, mostly unsuccessfully. While misunderstanding had been jarring at first, nowadays it was just amusing, especially when Gillian tried to make you understand by talking herself in circles about actors and directors and the like. “I mostly remember you making a lot of jokes I didn’t understand.”  
“Oh, yeah, that too.” Gillian pulled back, narrowing her eyes slightly. “You really don’t remember?”  
“Nope. Nothing. Why? What is it?”  
“If you don’t remember I’m not going to tell you.” She shook her head slightly, moving off the floor finally. You smiled as she groaned, knee joints clicking, reminding both of you that you weren’t as young as you once were. “C’mon, you should probably get going. I have sheep to feed, you have children to yell at...”  
“Shit, you’re right.” You’re dashing about, picking up your belongings from where they’d become scattered all over, Gillian watching with what you could only describe as a complicated look on her face.  
For now, you leave it, deciding to pry later, rushing off with a hurried peck to the cheek and half hug.

Two days later you’re driving to Gillian’s again, 3 decent bottles of wine on the seat next to you. You’d considered just bringing brandy, not bothering to start with the weaker stuff, but you’re probably doing enough damage to your liver as it is.  
You pull to a stop and check your makeup in the mirror, trying not to analyse your reasons for that too closely. It just feels important to look your best whenever you see Gillian, something which you’ve been pinning on your superiority complex rather than anything that could look like feelings. At all. You’re related now, there’s nothing there, there can’t be. Although actually you’re not entirely sure what the law says in relation to step sisters, especially considering you’re women and it’s always sketchy on that, what with the whole does that actually count type deal… You shake your head in frustration. Not only were you getting way ahead of yourself, it’s not like you actually had feelings for the other woman. You couldn’t possibly, at all, ever.  
That settled (mostly), you finally got out the car. You don’t bother knocking, knowing it’s pointless, but sweep right in, offering Gillian the bottles. She immediately poured it into mugs and you rolled your eyes, but you could feel your smile growing, ducking your head and hiding behind your hair like you were a teenager with your first crush again.  
Later, with the conversation well lubricated, you remember that morning. “What was the thing you told me, last time I was here?”  
“No way, I avoided that bullet once, I’m not gonna just tell you.” She’s curled up into your side, head on your shoulder, sounding sleepy and slightly muffled from where her face is buried in your cardigan.  
“Oh c’mon, it can’t be that bad.”  
“It’s not bad, really, just… Something that can’t be taken back.”  
“Just get it over with, liking ripping off a plaster. I promise I won’t disown you.”  
Gillian’s looking up at you, hair all soft and mussed, eyes wide and trusting, a hand curled in front of her face in a peculiarly childlike fashion. You wonder, again, just what it is that draws you to her.  
“Really? No matter what it is?”  
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”  
“I’m, well, I’m bi.”  
You gape for a second, tensing up, before flopping back on the cushions of the sofa with a sigh. “That’s it? I thought it was going to be awful, that I’d be helping you bury someone or something. I could have told you you were bisexual the moment I saw you!”  
“What?” Now it’s her turn to gape.  
“Oh come on, have you seen the amount of plaid you wear?”  
“That’s not - you’re supposed to be reassuring! And tell me everything is alright!”  
“Well what did I do last time, seeing as you’ve already told me?”  
“Oh - well - er - it was more… Well, I guess you didn’t really say anything about it.”  
“What does that mean?”  
“More brandy?” She’s up before you can answer, shuffling into the kitchen with your mugs.  
You narrow your eyes suspiciously. There’s obviously more to this than she’s telling you, but you decide to wait until later, when she’s more drunk, to dig deeper.

Later never comes, or if it does you don’t remember it. The first thing you realise is that there’s a heavy, warm weight half laying on you, snuffling in their sleep with their hair in your face. You let out a breath, blowing it off, and groan at the pounding in your temples. Somehow, you and Gillian had ended up sleeping on the same sofa, you on your back, her half laying on you in an effort not to fall off. You remember there was snuggling, some hand holding, a bit more than usual, but nothing too alarming… There might be vague impressions of maybe kissing, but that must just be your imagination, surely? There’s no way that could have actually happened? You look down at Gillian, at how she’s sleeping almost completely face down but you can see the edge of a smile poking out, and you feel your own grow to match. You wrap your arm around her tighter and go back to sleep.  
The next time you open your eyes, you’re desperate for the toilet, Gillian still asleep. You don’t really think about it as you try and climb over her, until you’ve got a leg over and realise this could be very embarrassing if she wakes up. Luckily you make it off the sofa without her stirring, immediately rushing off to the loo. It’s not until you’re washing your hands that you look in the mirror and practically gasp at the state you’re in. Your lipstick is more than a little smeared, lips puffy, and you count approximately 4 blossoming hickeys. Apparently the vague impression of making out was more than a little accurate.  
Shit. You made out, while drunk, with your step sister. Well. They didn’t teach you how to deal with this in teaching training.  
You lean back against the door consider, consider your options. 1) you could talk to Gillian about this, like the reasonable adults you’re supposed to be, 2) you could just leg it. You’re not surprised when you choose the latter.

3 hours later, while in a meeting, you get a text from Gillian. _We need to talk._  
It’s more than a little ominous, and not only do you blush at your phone, you also find yourself quite scared, of all things. _Can’t, I’m in a meeting._  
When r u gonna be free???  
You frown at the extra question marks and abbreviations, sighing at her predictable use of text slang. _Maybe tomorrow? I’ll text you._ You won’t, but that should get her off your back for a while, at least.

It’s been 2 weeks of you effectively fobbing her off, using a mix of excuses and just ignoring her texts. You’ve got the house to yourself somehow so you’ve got a bottle of wine, a comfortable jumper, and a book you’ve meaning to read for positively ages. The doorbell goes halfway through your third glass. You’re not exactly steady on your feet and decidedly not happy when you open it, especially when you discover Gillian stood on the doorstep. She’s got that stubborn, determined look on her face, so with a resigned sigh you let her, going straight to the kitchen to get another cup for her.  
“So, let’s get this over with. You never want to talk to me again, correct? We can pretend to be friends to appease our respective parents, but anything more than that wouldn’t be right.” You’re talking as you get a glass out, but as you turn back to face her you’re more than a little surprised by how close she’s standing, by how she crowds you back into the counter, her hands going either side of you and effectively trapping you.  
She’s shorter than you but at this moment it doesn’t feel like it, especially as she leans even closer, her eyes flicking down to your lips. “I was going to ask if we could do it again, actually, but if you’re not up for it...”  
“Oh!” You blink rapidly for a moment before quickly deciding to make the best of Gillian’s poor judgement. “Well, I could probably be convinced...”

**Author's Note:**

> Alex's contribution to end of google doc: 'hey gillian ur gay caroline muttered, not expecting her to notice but then gillian turns to her and goes oh that’s rich coming from you and then caroline is like whatever u big lesbian and then she pushes her against a wall and they make out the end'


End file.
